While Your Lips are Still Red
by LDKsolid
Summary: A Forsaken Assassin struggles with traumatic memories from his past, and contemplates how the decisions he's made has lead to the position he is in today. Warning: This story is both very sad and gruesome. You may need tissues.


While Your Lips Are Still Red

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It was a dark, dreary night in the Trisfal Glades, just as every night always was, and, some may tell you, always will be.

A lone rider made his way on a Pale Skeletal horse down the lonely trail that lead from Silverpine to the Undercity. Two pallid, glowing yellow orbs betrayed the fact that the man was indeed, Forsaken, even from afar.

The man was well put together. He had sunken features now, but he was handsome, with a finely shaped nose and a well sculpted jaw. His hair had an oddly human sheen, dark brown locks that had grown down to the end of the neck.

Two brightly glimmering daggers hung at his sides, the hilts of which appeared to be made of pure bone, carved in to finely crafted ivory handles. His clothes were not the kind one would expect a man of his profession to wear. They were both made of fine Nethersilk, a pair of pants and button up shirt with sleeves to the forearms, the color of tar.

This man was known by many names: Valento, Rentas, Theodore, Faelan, the list goes on. In truth, his name was Kefal. At least, it was now. He held a low frown on his face, and his eyes were large pools of sorrow. He clearly wasn't in the right state of mind, having been utterly lost in the past.

Deep within the confines of Kefal, the Royal Assassin's Mind, there was a story playing out in his head that was engrained in to his very being. His entire life was now as it was because of those events that first took place, and he had them to thank and curse for the way he was now.

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It was a brilliant, sunny day In the Trisfal Glades of the magnificent kingdom of Lordaeron, and Faelan could not have been a happier man. He stood in front of his old farm, the farm that his father passed down to him and the one that he would be supporting his family with.

Standing next to him was his fresh, beautiful, newly blushing bride. Sin'ree Leywalker, now Sin'ree Bonussen, was a beautiful young High Elven woman, fresh to the province, and human society.

That didn't matter, though. Faelan fell in love with her the moment that he saw her. She was the picturesque image of beauty: Long, flowing blonde hair and luminescent mana-blue eyes, thin faced and elegant in form, like a Gazelle.

He found her all on her own, very much lost in the city. She had once intended to open up an alchemy shop, though a thief had managed to steal her Caravan, and with it her life-savings, at a horrid stroke of bad luck.

He took no time to offer her in to his home and in to his arms. He loved her more dearly than anything else in all of Azeroth. He, on this day, vowed to serve her with all of the love in his heart, because he knew that she would always to do the same.

Then Faelan learned more of his lover. She was used to the brilliant golden jewelry and clothes of the High Elves, not the ratty cloth and simple garbs that the more economical humans seemed to enjoy wearing. She demanded that she be given the proper adornments of any High Elven woman. Faelan had little money, but he would never say no to his dear Sin'ree.

He stopped eating as much as possible, in order to afford his wife's many desires. He only ate one bowl of grain a day, working every hour he could. Some nights he'd be too tired to even step back inside, and he merely passed out in the fields. Sin'ree did love Faelan, and she appreciated his work, besides, he was a handsome man. She went out to wipe his face and cool him with cold water often, but she'd not sully her delicate hands trying to drag him back in to the house.

On the nights that he passed out in the fields, she'd bring him a tarp, wrap it around his near lifeless form, and would head in to the large, warm bed. That was the first thing he had spent his money on for her sake; he wanted for them to have a proper wedding bed, and he spent nearly forty gold pieces on the incredibly luxurious mattress, enchanted for a better sleep by the Dalaran Magi. She fell quite quickly to sleep on it, and seeing her restfully sleeping put a smile on his face, even if sometimes it was less seeing it and more envisioning it from the cold dirt of the soil at night.

For the most part, they were both happy though. He was soon as ill-fed as a man with nothing to his name, rather than one with a successful enough farm, and a beautiful wife. Sin'ree was content enough too, she got all of her baubles and dresses, and she got to sit out and watch a man she could call her own toughen himself with hard work, and support them thoroughly.

Of course, all of this was subject to change, and change it did.

One day, much like others, Faelan had reached his limit. He fell back and let himself lay among the grain, not quite unconscious, yet not fully there either. He viewed through the clearing rows that a rather brilliant looking carriage had driven up, yet he was too exhausted to move himself. He saw a strapping young man step out from the carriage, a smile on his face, his hair neatly trimmed and his adornments magisterially regal. Sin'ree stepped out to speak with him, and her look of confusion soon turned in to a blush, and then a smile. She looked around slowly, not spying her husband in the fields anymore. He saw her lean in, and share a kiss with the man, who quite forcefully gripped her buttocks.

Faelan didn't understand. He thought he was delirious from the heat, for a moment, but as he saw her strip herself of robes that he had starved to pay her for and step in to the rich man's carriage, he realized what had just occurred. His heart sank, and his throat closed up tightly. It felt as if Uther himself had just brought a war-hammer to his chest. He slowly stood up on legs that wanted nothing more than to rest. His head and heart wouldn't allow it.

Before he knew it, he was racing after the carriage as fast as he could. Of course, no matter how sick with love or broken-hearted a man was, he'd never be able to catch up to a team of horses. The clouds began to darken, and before he knew it, it was storming and raining harshly, as if the Light itself had decided to recognize the travesty that had occurred on this day.

Faelan made chase for fifteen miles before his body refused to move, no matter how much his mind ceaselessly wanted him to. He fell flat on to his face, covered with slick, heavy mud that covered him much like the despair he now felt, as if his very soul were being blackened by all of it. Low, unintelligible gurgles, growls, and attempts at screams reverberated throughout the night.

Kefal cut himself short. He had been so far lost down memory lane that he had traveled right passed the Undercity upon his slow-trotting horse, and was right at the outskirts of Brill! He let out an irritable sigh at this. His flash-backs never affected him during work, but whenever he was not focused on his duties to the Dark Lady, they seemed to spring up on him at random.

He wished nothing more than to be able to rent a room out at the Inn of Brill, and sleep. Of course, the Forsaken didn't ever NEED sleep, but the inky blackness that overtook him in this catatonic state was peaceful, and it helped to soothe his head after a long day.

"Business first, Pleasure later." That is what rolled around in his mind as he turned the horse around, and sped his way towards the Undercity. Given the sensitivity of his position, he was required to report to Lady Sylvanas herself with a full inquiry on his missions, everything from a spell he may not have recognized that a target used, to the method that he had prepared, to the number of times he sharpened his daggers before taking the target's life.

Yes, his work held many responsibilities, but it was something that he enjoyed to do. The skills that he had acquired in his human life that he used for evil were now being used for good. At least, for the good of the Forsaken; the way he saw things, now that he was Forsaken, what was good for them was good for him.

He didn't want to have to have to do it again tonight.

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OOC Notes: Hello everyone, this is my first real addition to the Fanfiction community, and I do hope that it goes over well. Kefal is my Forsaken Assassin on the Moonguard server, so yes, I roleplay with him as well. This will probably be a short series of four to six stories about Kefal's life when he was a human, and his slow descent in to insanity. If things go really well, I may just create another story about Kefal currently, or even continue down with this one story. Either way, I do hope that you all enjoyed. Please remember to leave a Review! You don't even need to log in anymore!


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